Hands
by bluejanes
Summary: It's not quite a love story. But, Alex likes to think, it could have been.


Alex/Nico (kinda) Oneshot. (Starts from ep.1 of the anime and ends on ep.12)

* * *

It's Nicolas that Alex first notices, but it's Nicolas who notices her first before she notices him.

She has blood slipping from her lips, staining her mouth with crimson like lipstick.

A man—as filthy and disgusting as usual—had come to her, seeing only her breasts and her body. He'd murmured to her in the dark alley as if he were sexy or something, his foul breath suffocating her nose and his dirty hands reaching for her body.

He'd acted like he was better than her—they all did—but something about his manner had been coarser, more egotistical than usual.

So she'd bit down on his dick, _hard_ , reveling in his cry of pain.

And as she'd anticipated, he slapped her, the blow drawing a mess of blood from her nose. But she'd hardly felt it; too accustomed to the stinging blows of men when they were unsatisfied with something.

Because she's a lesser being, someone not fit enough to be an actual woman, but good enough to suck their dicks, to let them take what they want. She'll never be anything more. It's what being a prostitute means to her, and on the streets, it's something she can't escape from if she wants to keep earning money. No, to survive.

That's the day, the day she first meets Nic and Worick face to face, and not from the small window.

She meets their stares with an impassively, knowing that they all judge her, everyone around her only seeing a worthless prostitute in her place.

But then she feels something land lightly on her head as she walks down the stairs. Reaching up, she touches soft fabric, and she brings it up to eye level to see a white handkerchief.

Surprised, she looks up, but there's no one there. It's an act so alien, so strange, that she keeps it in her mind and holds it in her hand. The gesture is kind; achingly and she hasn't had a glimpse of kindness since the moment she stepped onto those streets.

Still, she feels hollow inside, as she holds that handkerchief in her hand.

She doesn't use it.

* * *

It isn't hard to find them. She just follows the streaks of blood on the ground and the litters of dead bodies.

Everything inside is her buzzing with life and energy; with emotions that she hasn't felt for a long time. She gasps for air and her heart beats so fast she can hardly remember the time she last had to run like this.

The squelch and thumps of bodies being piled sound in her ear, but she can hardly hear it because all she can see is the dead body of Barry.

He's dead. Sweat rolls down her face like tears and she drops to her knees, feeling nothing and everything all at once.

Blood drips from his mouth and onto the floor, just how blood stained her mouth the first time she saw Nic and Worick face to face.

She reaches out to touch his back like a lover would—gently, like a caress. And then she grabs the gun and gets to her feet.

He was her home; a shitty home that gave her money and abused her, but he's dead now. She doesn't have to crawl on her knees in front of him, to put herself in a lower position than him.

 _He's dead_.

So she stands up and shoots him. Shoots and shoots until the gun runs out of bullets, her tears hitting the ground like bullets themselves.

She's sobbing and wiping away her tears with anger and disgust—she doesn't know why she's crying—because Barry's dead and she should be happy but she has nothing and she doesn't know what to do. It seems that the only thing she can do is walk away.

Worick catches up to her and drops his jacket onto her shoulders. She's shaking, but she's not cold from the weather. It's cold and empty inside of her, and she follows Worick and Nic silently, feeling nothing and saying nothing.

To say that the policeman isn't happy to see her with the Handymen is an understatement. But Worick wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, calling her a trophy.

It should sting, but she's far too used to being a something than a someone.

When the policeman doesn't stop his protests, a leg lashes out and slams into his police car, almost knocking it sideways.

Alex's breath catches with shock and fear as she turns to see Nic. Blood decorates his body like it belongs there, with patches on his face and clothes like dirt stains.

And the he speaks, his words and voice twisting and distorting into a deep, feral sound that sends shivers down her spine.

She's scared—no, terrified—of Nic, and his wild, violent expression does nothing to comfort her.

It's no wonder that she avoids him like the plague after that.

* * *

But in the ensuing days, she learns more about Nico. He's more than his silent stature and permanent scowls, and she almost can't believe her eyes when she seems him interact with Nina (a sweet, innocent child) for the first time.

When Nina teases him, she thinks that Nico will hit her for sure—his hand comes up to her face, large and intimidating. She wants to cry out, but before she can say or do anything, he reaches and pinches Nina's nose instead. It's an almost affectionate gesture, and Alex feels herself warm slightly at the scene.

The dash of warmth is quickly washed away with a splash of freezing water when she sees a savage, bloodthirsty grin snarl on his face as Nina talks about a strong Twilight.

She can't understand him, this man, who switches emotions so quickly like one slipping on and slipping off gloves. He's unreadable (or maybe because she hasn't known him for long enough to place his facial expressions with emotions).

Then Nina pulls out bottles of medicine and it's another jolt of shock because how can someone like Nic— _Nic_ —need medicine?

And then he and Nina set off for the doctor's clinic.

Her life has changed so much since she met the Handymen, and now she's even acting as a distraction so Worick can kill three men.

She can't bring herself to regret it, though, even as she buries her head in her arms with guilt, and feels the cold stain of blood on her white clothes.

It's crazy, this life she's living, but she's a lot happier with her situation at the present than her past. Today's the day she helps kill three men, but it's also the day she first learns about Twilights.

Worick looks up and it's Nic fighting someone in midair. _Midair_. They drop to the ground and Nic lands softly on his feet, while the other falls with a heavy thud.

There's blood everywhere, sprayed across bodies, the streets, the walls, and all she can see is the blood and the looming silhouette of Nic standing above her.

At the doctor's clinic, Nina sits down next to her, and Alex wonders how such a fragile, kind girl can be unafraid of Nicolas. He could easily snap her neck in two with his large, powerful hands, or slice her to pieces with his sword.

But Nina's surprised that Alex is scared of Nico—disappointed, almost. And she gives Alex a strange, tremulous smile as Alex turns to leave and the sunlight falls on Nina, making her look like an angel in the dark, cramped room.

Right then and there, Alex wants to throw away her fear for Nico.

After that, she tries to open up and get to know him—she really does. But every time she tries to talk to him, he stares at her with a blank face, never saying anything.

Worick sends her on an errand with Nic, and she can't stop the pool of dread that fills her stomach at the thought.

Her attempts to talk with him on their walk are weak and awkward, and Nic is mostly unresponsive. She's hurt and scared, but Nic always manages to surprise her. Always.

The old woman at the shop treats her with disdain and calls her a prostitute, but Nic stops her.

"She's my woman." He says in that mangled, deep voice of his.

Alex stops and stutters with shock, staring at the back of Nic's head. Since when was she his woman? But she knows that he said it for her sake, and a rush of gratitude and surprise fills her.

She finds herself wanting to get to know him better. (He's not nearly as bad as she first thought).

But it's after they visit the brothel that she's painfully aware of how much she doesn't know about Nic and Worick. There's so much mystery surrounding the two that she hardly knows what to think or believe.

* * *

She's alone in the house again, and Nic and Worick are out on a job.

It's a bit strange, to be just picking up phone calls while they do whatever their jobs call for. The house feels lacking, like there's something missing without those two.

The quiet darkness of the room settles in on her—she flinches violently and gasps.

Barry's dead body, hangs in front of her, his voice echoing harshly. Blood drips everywhere and her emotions flare, her mind disoriented and shrouded by fear. She can't think or see—no matter where she looks, all she can see is his body, ripped and stained and dead.

 _I shot him_. She thinks, wildly.

Something primal and confused spins in her, thrashing and cutting away at her insides. There's nothing but her and Barry's dead body, following her, standing in the corners of her eyes, or right in front of her face.

 _Barry. Blood. Dead. Nothing._

The words swarm in her head and she dashes out of the door. Barry is there, always there. Always watching her; she can't live the way she's been living anymore. Barry's watching.

She breaks down and everything is just a choking, blinding blur. The past few hours of her life are empty and detached, and all she can see is Barry.

Worick calls out to her, "Ally!". But the rain pounds on her shoulders, sliding down her body, soaking her dress. Her feet scratch roughly against the stone path and she absently holds her shoes in one hand.

The rain is nothing.

 _Barry_. She can't think anything else, see anything else. It's just Barry.

The next thing she knows, Worick's on the floor, clutching his head.

 _I did that to him_. She rushes to his side, horrified, and drops to her knees.

At that moment, she knows that she can't stay. (But she so badly wants to, wanting it so much it hurts).

And time passes, and she finds herself wanting to stay, even if she can't stay. It tears away at her, but she knows that no matter what, she doesn't want to leave this place. She's happier than she's been for years.

So she finds herself asking Nico if she can stay, just for a while longer. She even uses the meager sign language that she learned from the book he gave her. He's staring at her with an unreadable expression (as always) and she has to stop herself from twisting her hands with fearful anticipation.

He turns around and promptly complains about her shitty sign language, completely ignoring her question.

A bright laugh bubbles in her stomach, and she lets a wide grin fall onto her face. She's already been accepted, and Nico knows just the right things to say to ease her fears.

This is the first time she's used sign language to communicate with him, and it's like she's walked halfway across the bridge separating them.

* * *

When Alex meets Constance, she knows she'll find a great friend in her. The young woman is cheerful and open; and her bluntness is refreshing.

They chat for a while, and then Connie breaches the subject of family.

Alex's head rings and a sharp dagger pierces her chest because _she has a brother_.

Horrified, she drops her gaze and her hand begins to shake. A hazy memory fills her head, and she can barely remember her brother. Her own brother.

How could she have forgotten him for so long? What's wrong with her? The rest of the world has drowned out, and it's only her and her pain.

Her hands tremble violently as she reaches for her pills, wishing everything to go away. Her chest feels as if there's a mountain on it, and she struggles for breath as cold sweat breaks out on her face.

She's so terrified of herself, so guilty. How could she have forgotten; how?

There's something behind her; and from the corner of her eyes, or maybe just instinct, she knows that it's Barry. Barry's dead body is always behind her, watching her.

She reaches to open the cap, wanting to feel some semblance of normal again, and then a pair of hands cover her own.

They're large and covered with black gloves, and Alex can barely breathe as the hands settle on her.

They grip her shaking ones in a firm, warm grip and there's a comforting and strong presence at her back.

And then the tension eases out of her body, like a balloon releasing the air inside, and she relaxes. The touch brings her back to reality—Barry's dead, and somehow, everything will be okay. It's like they've grounded her, away from the insanity of her broken memories and mind.

Then the presence abruptly disappears, and when she turns around, there's no one there.

"Nico…" Her voice trails off. She hadn't seen him, but she knows that it was him.

She doesn't have to take the pills. It reminds her, distantly, of the time Nico gave her his handkerchief.

That night, when she sings onstage, she feels like she could be normal. Memories flood her mind, and she nearly feels like herself again. Alex Benedetto. Someone of worth, someone with friends and more than just someone who could only spread her legs. Here, she's actually something—a person that's acknowledged.

Her life has changed so much since she met the Handymen. The days she'd been a hollow, empty doll seem like a long-gone nightmare, and she feels filled to the brim with _life_.

And then the world explodes into chaos and violence and death.

* * *

Shivering, swarming images flash in and out of her mind; static voices grating against her ears. Images hazed and tinged with the seeping grey of forgotten memories haunt her and _there's so much blood_. The inescapable staining of blood clinging to her and the world around her.

Distantly, from somewhere in her dream but not quite her dream, she hears the rain falling. It pounds against the cold, stone ground and she feels a wet droplet fall on her face, trailing from her eyes to her cheeks.

An empty, frozen feeling lingers in the slow tracks of the liquid, leaving her raw.

Abruptly, she wakes up, the tears sliding off her face. The rain falls hard and heavy outside her window, and she absently wipes her tears as she turns.

Nic sits on a chair next to her bed, reading a book and he hands her a cup of coffee without looking at her.

The heat of the cup warms her hands and her body, and the steam tickles her face. She feels safe.

The past events are a messy blur, and she tries to sort them out, her mind still hazy with sleep.

"Where are the baby and Miss Christiano?" She keeps her gaze focused on the soft ripples of the top of her coffee. Nic's gaze slides to her.

He motions with his hands and understanding settles in Alex.

A small part of her had wanted everything to be a dream; for the chaos and terror to fade away with the sun. But there was no sun—only somber, grey clouds—and it was not a dream. A bloody body flashes before her eyes, the face wrapped in darkness. Her heart beats quickly, once, and she lifts her head to look at Nic.

"Nicolas," She hesitates a bit, "have I met you once before, too?"

Nic moves so that his head faces hers, and he meets her gaze squarely. There's no change in his face, no flash of emotion.

He opens his mouth as if to answer her, but shuts his book with a quiet snap and leaves suddenly. Alex follows him to the door where he slams it open to reveal the familiar faces of two sheepish looking men.

They ask Nic to act as Miss Christiano's bodyguard.

Alex feels her heart pound louder in her chest and she wishes desperately that she could see Nic's face. But all she can see is his back, strong and steady. (Just like him).

He nods. And Alex wants to call out, to say something—anything—but the men continue talking.

It seems like everything that could go wrong is going wrong. Constance is gone, and Alex feels a sharp jolt of fear for the warm, bright girl.

"There's a car waiting outside. Please come at once." The men waste no time, acting on the severity of the situation.

Nic swiftly grabs his sword and his coat, and Alex hovers nearby, hating herself and feeling useless.

"M-me too!" She calls, as Nic sweeps by her.

His hand stills on the doorknob and he raises his other hand to make a stop motion. And then he tells her to "stay here" with his hand. She stares at the scar on his palm and is reminded, sharply, of everything. How they're powerful enough to kill but gentle and caring at the same time. She resists looking down at her own soft, weak hands.

 _Useless._

An almost angry disappointment crushes Alex and she grimaces. She knows she won't be any help out there, and she _loathes_ her weaknesses.

She can't do anything, and it eats at her. The house is empty, and everyone she knows is gone, fighting to save lives. But here she is, sitting inside the house like a lame duck, waiting for them to come back.

 _But what if they don't come back?_

Nic is nearly down the stairs and Alex dashes down to follow him, gripping his sleeve.

Their gazes meet, in a clash of black and blue. Alex's eyes are wide and fearful, but Nic's are unwavering and fierce. His eyes narrow and with a (soft) tug, he pulls his arm away from her and gets into the car.

Something passed between them at that moment—when their eyes met in a clutter of words unspoken and words that needed to be spoken—something undefinable; something full of sorrow and resolve. A mix of things that shouldn't have mixed, but were smashed together anyway.

But they had never really needed words, and Nic leaves her, silently.

The car drives away, and Alex slumps onto the steps wearily, clutching her arms for a remnant of warmth that she can't find.

The rain falls, and it's so, very, very cold.

* * *

 **A/N: My main ship is Constance/Marco, but honestly, that scene where Nico covered Alex's hands in Connie's shop was what got me. But Nico/Alex is kinda like a doomed ship? I dunno. Also, I just realized that I kept switching between names for Nicolas (Nic, Nico, Nicolas). Whoops. Anyway, thanks for reading and please let me know if you have any concerns or comments.**


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